Reflection
by krimrose
Summary: Apologies didn't come easily from Lydia Martin, but when they did, you better bet they're worth their weight in gold. —IsaacLydia.


**title:** Reflection  
**summary:** Apologies didn't come easily from Lydia Martin, but when they did, you better bet they're worth their weight in gold. —IsaacLydia.  
**disclaimer:** I do not own Teen Wolf.  
**rating:** T

* * *

"Hey, remember when I asked you out a few years back and you blew me off?" Isaac slipped his fingers through hers as they strolled along the edge of the university. He gave her a sly glance, waiting for her to answer.

Lydia averted her eyes and bit her lip. She squeezed his hand and muttered lowly, "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

Isaac grinned. "I hated you back then," he admitted, more blatantly than a boyfriend should, "I liked you, but hated you at the same time. It was like I knew I could never be with you, but I couldn't keep my heart from beating faster when you walked by. _God, it was so stupid_."

He didn't mean for the confession to hurt her, he was just being honest because he knew Lydia appreciated honesty. And he tried hard to fight off the satisfaction he felt when she flinched at his words.

"I was pretty awful back then," Lydia whispered, knowing he could hear her clearly. But then she stopped and pulled him to the side so that they were facing each other. University students walked past, eyeing them oddly and then moving on. "But I don't regret who I was," she insisted, "because it made me _strong_. Because it made me feel _in control_ and I needed that. Everyone kind of needs that," Lydia reasoned with a light shrug.

Isaac nodded, a thin smile pulling at his lips.

Right. After all, that's what he was so attracted to. _Is _so attracted to. It was her strong will that kept him completely mesmerized long after he realized that he didn't stand a chance against Jackson Whittemore or any other stupid jock.

It was the clicking of her heels and the flowing of her floral dresses; it was the beauty, and it was all the times when he snagged a seat behind her and managed to catch a glimpse of all those perfect scores; it was all of these things that kept him from ever truly letting her escape his mind.

Lydia Martin was what got him through school. And on those fearful occasions that came more regularly than not, when his father felt the need to "teach him a lesson," it was Lydia Martin that got him through the night. It was always easier thinking about strawberry blonde hair and red lipstick, than the darkness that gnawed at his soul as he was beaten and locked up—his hands always itching to fight back, but the thought of striking his father was something even more farfetched than dating Lydia.

"But Isaac," her voice calling his name brought him back to a reality that he never dared to dream about. A reality where she stood in front, looking at him with eyes that held incredibly vast amounts of knowledge. "I do regret hurting you," she said slowly. "And I will _never_—"

His lips cut off the rest of her sentence, but he pretty much knew how it would go.

It was terribly cruel of him and he would do it subconsciously, but Isaac sometimes found himself giving Lydia a hard time. He would bring up the past and have her simmer at the _audacity_ of him being upset that she ignored him when in turn, he had practically tried to _kill_ her—_more than once_.

But Lydia would always end the argument with an apology.

It was never anything long, with all the flourishes that she put into essays, but it was enough. It was short and it was sincere.

And it was like she knew that he needed it.

It was almost like she took every opportunity where he made her feel bad, where he poked and prodded at a wounded past that he could never quite leave behind, to apologize. _For his father_.

'_I was terrible, Isaac_.'

'_I'm so sorry_.'

'_I regret it_.'

And slowly, Isaac found himself forgiving the man who was his father only in name.

Lydia broke away from the kiss and blinked up at him, her green eyes flickering. "If we head back now, we could get to Beacon Hills before night fall. We could visit the cemetery before dinner."

And slowly, Isaac found himself feeling sorry for his old man who never had the kind of love that could deter him from violence.

* * *

_fin_.


End file.
